


He'd be there

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Pearly's Preklok Fics [11]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Drugs, Eating Disorders, Gen, Preklok, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, trans pickles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-22 23:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9629126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Toki's POV. His impression of his new band.





	

**Author's Note:**

> fiddled with the ages in my preklok timeline a bit. Nathan is the second-youngest with Skwisgaar being one year older than him. Toki is a few months older than Nathan which is weird but consider: fight me.
> 
> mostly writing this because i SUCK at writing Tokaroonie

He'd never even thought he'd end up in a band. Especially not such a cool, fucking brutal, badass band. 'Dethklok'. The name rolled off of his tongue like some kind of really cool... really delicious... candy. Or something. Shit, man, he had no idea. But it was totally cool and he was 100% into it, everything about it. Even if everyone in the band was kind of weird and gross and stupid. (Not everyone could benefit from his superior Norwegian intellect, or... something.)

Regardless, he'd make this the high point of his life.

(His standards were low.)

-

He could tell that Nathan was totally brutal. The baddest motherfucker of all time. Nathan had more badassery in the spiral of his left cochlea than Toki had in his entire body. Hardly a conversationalist, probably because he was hiding some dark, spooky, tragic past behind that thick wall of muscle and long, black hair. 

When he wasn't playing black metal CDs in the living room or stumbling drunk like a 2-year-old who just learned to walk, Nathan would just sit in silence. Usually with his hands hanging limply between his knees, and that wide curtain of hair covering his entire face. The type that even straight guys would admit a mild attraction to. Something nebulous and wild, like a raven on the rocks of Stonehenge, calling to its brethren through the soft wind. 

Of course, Toki never spoke to Nathan unless prompted. He was wildly afraid that Nathan would call him stupid and break his neck. Especially since Toki was already replacing a guitarist that he couldn't help but assume was much better than him, he was definitely on thin ice. 

It didn't take long to realize that, while Nathan was totally cool, he wasn't very smart. At least, not book-smart. Not to mention that, at the very least, Toki recognized that his lyrics were far from ingeniously written. (Several times, Murderface attempted to get a song into their records. However, Toki feared that would be a doubly disastrous endeavor.) Along with that, Toki discovered Nathan's strong adoration for animals. Around the back of the apartment building he'd visit all of the cats living in trash and squalor. He'd feed them and pet them with rubber gloves on. It was like something straight out of a family film, which Toki had seen very few of.

One time while observing Nathan from the second-story window, Toki decided to run down the stairs and have a really meaningful conversation with the guy. (Because, frankly, holding a conversation with Nathan was like pulling teeth.) Using his labor-toned legs to scale the steps at nigh-impossible speeds, he scuttled into the back alley where all the trash went and nearly ran face-first into a wall with how fast he was going. And all that he met in the end was a blank stare.

"...Hi."

"What're you doin' here." Nathan seemed less angry and more just completely shocked. He drew his hand away from a small cat, who insistently rubbed its face against his thick palm. "Pashmina, no."

"I just, uh. Wants to see... what you's ams ups to."

"No- nothing."

"I loves, uh... what- what's ams dose in English."

"Cats?"

"Ja, I loves cats."

"Holy shit, okay, uh, this is Pashmina, she's an asshole. That's Denim, he's really fat, but like, by stray standards. That's Cotton, that's Silk, that's Cashmere, that's Leather, that's Faux-Fur, that's Polyester, that's Chiffon, Batiste, Chino, Pique, Lace, Nylon..." He paused. "...Bombazine... Down..." Toki could see the red tint creep into his face as he realized what a tangent he'd just gone on. "..V...Vinyl... and Chintz..."

"How's you remembers all dems?"

"Uh..." He swallowed. "I dunno..."

"Dat ams pretty cools, Natens."

"I-it isn't really."

"No, it ams! I loves cats." They were so fluffy and cute. "Can I pets dem? Which one ams dis?"

"That's Cotton. She uh, she's FHV-positive." Toki stared in confusion. Those were letters. "She has like, cat herpes."

"Oh. Oh! Ams it concktagious to peoples?"

"I'm not really, uh... sure. So I wear gloves." Nathan paused. "Because I'm... not really... far enough in my career to get herpes."

"Hehe. Hehe! You ams a funny guy!"

"What?! N-no, I'm not funny! I'm fucking brutal!" He was yelling, moreso out of exasperation, but Toki still flinched, throwing up his hands and expecting one hell of a beating. "...Shit, fuck. Are you okay? Fuck..." He backed up. "I'm, uh... s... sorr'..."

"No, it's ams fine."

"I... I really wouldn't, uh, hurt anyone. Unless they were seriously fucking with me." He grunted. "Like, if I was at a party... and they wouldn't gimme booze..."

"...Uhm..." Toki backed up. Shit, he had made things awkward. Internally he was cursing his own past for ruining this wonderful time. "Well, uh... It was nice to see you's and you's cats, Natens. Dey ams very pretties."

"Yeah, I wanted to take 'em in, but, uh..." He trailed off. "...Skwisgaar didn't want 'em, Pickles was worried about the cat herpes, and Murderface just said 'no pets' and then went to his room." He picked up one of the cats, scratching it behind the ear. "Good kitty. Uh, good Cashmere. I love you."

"Maybe Skwisgaar ams allergic to cats."

"...Yeah, I guess."

"Well, I sees you later, pals." Toki waved goodbye. Nathan didn't respond, as he was too busy babytalking to one of the cats. (Denim?) He had no idea what a soft, gentle soul Nathan was beneath that cold, hard exterior. Perhaps the whole game of "brutality" was just a facade he created to avoid emotional confrontation. Toki pushed the thought away, not wanting to over-analyze the actions of his bandmates. That'd just be awkward.

-

Skwisgaar, perhaps, threatened Toki even more than Nathan did just by his sheer existence.

"Superiority, thy name is Skwisgaar Skwigelf" was a phrase Murderface spoke a few times as a joke. However, he couldn't have been more right. Perfect body, perfect hair, perfect face. Women adored him, men envied him, he played guitar and played it better than anyone else, and was so smooth it'd make a secret tribe of butter people seethe with rage. Toki owed Skwisgaar his life. After all, nobody else was looking to let him into this new band.

It was a bad habit, but Toki did whatever the guy asked him to. Well, really, he did that for all of Dethklok. But he felt like he owed Skwisgaar, or something. He'd still be on the streets if it weren't for the guy, and Toki couldn't help but consider himself dead weight.

He was scared to communicate with Skwisgaar. Because he'd be wasting the guy's time. Skwisgaar was callous and unfeeling. Toki never saw him emote outside of when he was violently hammered. But when sober, he just silently and blankly fiddled with his Gibson, and barely spoke more than he needed to. He didn't play with kittens, he was the real McCoy, a real emotionless badass with no fear and nothing to worry about.

But Toki wanted to be friends with him.

And it burned.

But what would he talk about? What would they do together? He wasn't as easy as Pickles or even Murderface. What was he interested in? Did he like sports, or knitting, or animals, or art, or video games, or cartoons, or obscure flavors of jelly, or staring at the decomposing corpses of birds, or mini-golf, or what? But if he asked he'd just look silly. Like he was trying too hard. All he wanted was to get to know him, but he couldn't.

So he went through the days looking on at his amazing talents. Wanting to be just like him. 

But failing to do so.

The recording studios were really nice. They'd just gotten an actual deal with a record producer and got accommodations for doing their music stuff. Toki had never seen something quite so lavish as the tall, glassy buildings and suits and ties. It seemed like a change of pace for everyone EXCEPT Skwisgaar.

His fingers locked up around the frets as he fumbled with his notes.

"Stops, stops." Skwisgaar put his head in his hands. "Dis ams de fiths times you re-plays dis. You ams learnings how to un-plays de guitar."

"Sorries." Toki looked away. It was a hard riff to get just right, and his fingers were too short and stubby to reach the right frets at the right times. His playing just sounded lame and dinky and he hated it a whole lot.

"Stays dere."

He stared for a moment, then noticing Skwisgaar approaching the glass booth. Oh fuck. What was he gonna do?

Slowly, gently and deftly, he slid around Toki's back, dwarfing him in height. "You gots to reach you's fingkers over here. And press dems downs really hard."

"I knows dat, Skwisgaar, I just can't does it."

"Here, here, here. Ah, try doesing it... slowlies."

Well, that was slightly less challenging. He attempted to slow the song down in his brain, and while it didn't sound nearly as good, it'd still be way easier for him to play. So he went for it, doing pretty well aside from a few teeny weeny fuck-ups that only he could recognize. "Stops."

"Huh?"

"I 'tink I gots it. Hold on a seconds."

Skwisgaar shuffled out of the recording booth, not even seeming to raise his feet off the ground, and rummaged through a bag of guitar stuff he generally brought with him to recording sessions. Then he walked back in, holding some... weird metal thing.

"What's ams dat?"

"De guitar clips. Holds down all de strings at a certain frets while you plays." He clipped it on. "Frees up you's fingers so you don't gots to frets all weird and snap you's hands." Quickly, Toki played a chord on his guitar. It was in perfect key. He grinned wildly. 

"T'ank you."

"Olrights, now. Since we got de clips you can sort of cheats and play de chords differentlies." He patted Toki's head like he was a little kitty cat. "Now, can you plays it at de normal speeds?" Toki shrugged, taking some time to figure out where to press for it to sound nice. Then, as quickly as possible, he ran through the riff and hardly missed a single beat. His face lit up. Skwisgaar was SMILING at him, like he'd just done something amazing. "Good works."

"C-can we records it?"

"I t'inks we can." He walked towards the door. "I'll show it to de guys in de morningks."

After that, Toki didn't really have many meaningful interactions with Skwisgaar outside of recording or practicing. Which was fine. Hearing Skwisgaar speak passionately about the guitar was enough to turn Toki's mood around for a whole day. And he always, always wanted to take tips and improve as much as he could. Someday he'd be just as good at guitar as Skwisgaar, and what better way to achieve that than by learning from him?

-

Pickles was considered by everyone to be the band mom. Despite him being a transgender man, it wasn't a term he seemed to mind. ("What, can't a guy be mom?") Already, the fact that he was trans set him apart from anyone Toki had met in Norway, along with that he was extremely bisexual and not afraid to say so. Back home that kind of thing was frowned upon, and he never thought he'd meet someone who was so proud of it. It was a refreshing change. Toki supported the fuck out of him.

But Pickles was also the oldest, most experienced, and most involved with keeping the band out of trouble. This was, of course, many years before Ofdensen would live in the same building as them. Pickles was just so kind and maternal in his own strange, drunken way. Day after day he'd go through bag after bag of weed that Nathan or Murderface would buy from some random dildo, making extra-extra-extra sure they weren't laced with something awful. Despite his numerous addictions, he always vehemently insisted that "his boys" shouldn't touch cocaine or heroin, at least not until they're super famous and can afford the funeral. That, at the very least, scared Nathan and Toki enough to keep their hands off of his stash.

And what a zazzy, multi-talented mom he was. Toki could barely even comprehend why he was working with a rinky-dink little start-up band like Dethklok in the first place, when he could probably start a solo career and take the world by storm. Murderface would ALWAYS complain that it was unfair, that he and Skwisgaar should've been sharing their talent instead of keeping all that good fortune to themselves. Toki, though threatened, didn't mind as much. Watching them play was an experience he never wanted to miss.

Pickles was the only one he felt like he could TALK to.

Because he was just so open and inviting.

Like a real mom.

So that's what Toki would do. Just to talk about his new band, or their lives, or the world, or just the weather, Pickles was his go-to man. Having someone to talk to at all was a brand-new experience for him and he wanted it to stay that way forever.

When everyone else was wildly drunk and passed out, they'd just stay up awhile and talk. But a few months into their friendship and Toki realized he knew... nothing about Pickles' life, or his family, or anything. Which he understood, since he hated talking about his home life. But he felt as though him and Pickles were close enough to know literally everything about one another, and yet they didn't. Slightly drunk, he worried Pickles just didn't LIKE him enough.

"...Hey, Pickle."

"Yeh?" He looked over, bottle of Corona in one hand and the other buried in Murderface's hair. (That kid slept on Pickles' lap more than he slept in bed.)

"...What's ams you lifes like?"

"Depressing." Pickles flapped his lips, making a 'pfft' sound. "I hate everythin' about it. Why?"

"I dunno, I just... don't knows much about anyones in dis band. I feels... Estranged."

"Oh, don't worry. I barely tell anyone about my life unless they ask." He shrugged. "I think it's pretty borin'. Just the same old tiring slog of endless hatred. Hey, dat's actually a good song lyric... I should write it down..."

"You gots parents?"

"Yup. My dad's a real asshole, too." He shrugged once more, then lowering his gaze, seeming to stare into Murderface's ear. "My mahm... she don't appreciate me none. Don't appreciate me as a musician, don't appreciate me as an artist, don't even appreciate me as a man."

"I hears you. My moms and dads are... scaries."

"Yeh. Then dere's my stupid brudder. Always tryin' to be better than me." Pickles grumbled, taking a long swig of beer. "Of course, mahm likes him, he's modest, and an underachiever, and gettin' a 'reeeeal jahb'. And he was born with the hardware he's usin'! Ugh!"

"Well, even if you's gots de wrong hardwares, Toki still loves you."

"...Dood, the fuck?"

"It's ams true, I loves everyone heres! Evens if I'm scareds to tells 'em. Even if it amn'ts brutal, it ams true! So sucks it!"

Toki paused for a moment. "...I gots carried away. Sorries." He was surprised to hear Pickles softly laughing, his shoulders raising with each breath. He relaxed. Thank god, he hadn't pissed off the only person here he well and truly connected to.

"Yer a great kid, yanno that?"

"...No?"

"Well, I'm tellin' ya now. Here's to you." He rose his bottle, then taking another looooong drink before leaning back. The room went silent, other than the sound of Nathan's guttural snoring from the corner where he passed out, sitting up. Pickles continued after the long silence. "But, yanno, I hope one day I can be an inspiration for people. Den my mahm will be proud of me, instead of feeling like she's... stuck with me."

"You should tells you's mom to go fucks herself."

Pickles gave him a weird look.

"Dood, I can't do dat, she's my mahm!"

"Okay, okay. I'm just sayin's. If it was me in dat sicktuations, I'd say to fucks herself!" (No he wouldn't. Not with HIS mother, anyway.)

"Yeh, well, I can't."

It was still nice to know more about Pickles. Even if it was a touchy subject. Toki was further inspired by his heart-wrenching rise to fame, like it were straight out of a soap opera. He could relate. His parents were pure evil, too! And he wanted to stay close to Pickles, who'd been twice the mother than his real one had been. (Though, then again, two times zero is zero, so maybe that was a bad analogy to use.) Nonetheless, he was ready to continue working with Pickles for the long, long future ahead of them, no matter what happened.

-

On the reverse end, Toki had never quite worried about someone as much as he had about William Murderface. Within his first few hours of being a Dethklok member, Pickles was forced to explain that Murderface had attempted suicide very recently and somehow, by a wild stroke of luck, came out with only two broken legs. ("And dat's why he's got casts on and is fuddling around in crutches like a doofus.") And even before that, attempting to call him "William" was responded to by screaming and lashing out. Those things alone left a really good idea of what Murderface would be like, and it wasn't pretty in the slightest.

Murderface was constantly on watch by his peers, which might seem unnecessary for an 18-year-old, but frankly, Murderface was a special case. Dealing with him was an act that Pickles compared to playing a game of Tapper. Because no matter where you are, there's something waiting for you that only booze can fix. And, while a bit of a silly metaphor, Toki could see it clearly within his day-to-day life. Every time he entered Pickles' bathroom he could see the counters littered with broken shaving razors, and mild red stains diluted by water in the sink. Or old vomit, still sitting in the toilet, sometimes with Murderface hunched over the lip, two fingers shoved in his mouth and an expression of shock as he realized he'd forgotten to lock the door again. Or even just Murderface himself, staring into a mirror in women's clothing and very convincing makeup, only for him to notice Toki peering through a crack in the door and screaming bloody murder.

It was a daily task of the band's to just make Murderface do things. "Eat." "Put some clothes on." "If you need to use the bathroom, go do it." "Take a bath." "Brush your teeth." And he was always petulant, insisting he didn't need to. He wasn't hungry, beds were made for pissing on, and baths were for pussies. 'Instead, let's get drunk and watch Ren & Stimpy'.

Another thing Toki noticed about him early on was that he deeply mistrusted Toki, for reasons nobody wanted to speak up about. Though Pickles didn't say too much, he put out the basics: Dethklok's old guitarist, whose name was something like Magnets Hangersmelt, took advantage of Murderface for sex and in-band leverage, and essentially scarred him for life. The already wary bassist became even moreso, and didn't even want a new rhythm guitarist to begin with.

It broke Toki's heart, the way someone so young could be so screwed up inside. Pickles knew a lot about the kid, perhaps because he'd dump down the information while drunk. An orphan who moved in with his grandparents into an overly-religious household in Georgia, went through life bullied and tormented before leaving home with a wallet full of prostitution money and hitchhiking his way down to Florida. Lived with Magnets for a few years, became his boyfriend and cut off the relationship twice as fucked-up as before. Had eating disorders, depression, possible bi-polar, maybe even BPD, though he'd never seen a psychologist to prove it. Dyslexic and only got out of school by threatening his principal, clearly gay but refuses to admit it due to his confusing past with religion. He was an open-and-shut case.

Toki wanted to help him.

Because he wasn't ugly, and even if he was mean, Toki knew deep down there was more to him than that.

But Murderface refused to be helped.

So instead of helping, Toki watched as Murderface was dragged through each day by his band, clinging to life by the skin of his teeth. Drinking, puking, crying, locking himself in his bedroom to listen to XTC albums and try cocaine for the first time even though Pickles said not to, and everything in-between. He was alone, and while he didn't like it, that's how it'd stay.

At 2 AM Toki found him, once again face-first in the toilet bowl, breathing heavily. Pickles chalked it up to his close watch on the kid as to why he'd stayed alive for so damn long. He stared up from the floor with a harsh gaze, raising up his shoulders like a porcupine extending its quills. Toki had no intention of threatening him. Really he just wanted a drink of water. But the half-opened pill bottles and red marks on the faucet told him that this time, he had to stay.

"Toki, what're you doin'?! Get outta here!"

"Moidaface, you takes all dese pills?"

"Who'sch aschkin'."

"...Toki?"

"Get out!"

Toki swallowed. Normally he stayed in his lane, but Murderface was a special case.

"You feelin's okays?"

"...They're juscht to make me honk up my food, jeesch." He reached for another one. Toki smacked his hand, as gently as he could. "Hey, don't gimme that! You're not FAT." Murderface was most likely drunk, which at least made his emotions a bit more malleable. It'd be easier to talk him out of anything dangerous this way. Murderface was too busy pinching at the tight skin on his own body. "Schtupid fucking love handlesch... Why are they called that?! Nobody could love thesche!"

"Moidaface, you--"

"Maybe I should juscht drown myschelf in my own fucking puke, then I'd feel better..."

"Moidaface, no."

"What, what're you gonna do? Hit me?!"

"I ain'ts gonna hit you." Toki dragged him to his feet, pulling one arm over his own shoulder. "You's needs food, and you's needs a bath, and you's needs sleep. And Toki amn'ts budgin's on dat." 

"I don't need food. I need lessch food, I have food issuesch, are- are you schtupid?!"

"Shoosh."

Toki set him down on the kitchen floor and hastily heated up some instant ramen. (It was really the only thing he knew how to make in a short period of time.) He was stuck force-feeding Murderface half of what he had made before the poor kid's fucked-up digestive system had him looking almost green in the face. As soon as Toki turned around to clean the used bowl, Murderface had vomited on himself once and promptly passed out. Toki decided to wake up Pickles and have him deal with it. He wasn't sure where to go from there. 

Murderface was a sad, sad kid. And Toki wanted to be there for him more than anything. Sometimes he feared, though, that the task was too demanding for him. But if the going got tough, he kept it in his heart that he'd be there for the youngest member of Dethklok, no matter what kinds of insanity got between them. It was, after all, quite a workload for one solitary alcoholic of age 23 to deal with on his own. Luckily, Toki would be there for him, too. Toki would be there for Dethklok, and in return, they'd be there for Toki. It was a beautiful and perfect equation of equal parts.


End file.
